


Wedding Day

by SherlockMalfoy



Series: Sherlock!Wizardverse Drabble Sets [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Marriage, Wedding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-16
Updated: 2012-08-16
Packaged: 2017-11-12 07:14:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/488141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SherlockMalfoy/pseuds/SherlockMalfoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Sherlock put up with enthusiastic relatives, Draco's insistance on annoying old tradition, and Harry's not even bothering to hide it demand for grandchildren on their wedding day. But hey, there's always the privacy of Draco's study during the reception.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Morning

John had spent a week imprisoned in the Potter-Malfoy manor. Secluded on the furthest edge of the east wing with a strict schedule of when he could leave his suite. He was allowed the use of one house elf, whom he really would have liked to not have around as the little buggers creeped him out quite a lot, and was allowed visitors.  
       The only visitor he was not allowed to have had been his own fiance.  
       Though, to be fair, Sherlock had been sequestered to a suite at the exact opposite of the manor. The furthest point of the west wing. He, too, was given a strict schedule of when he was allowed to leave the suite, and was allowed one house elf. Whom he had driven away within the first hour of his seclusion. He too, was allowed visitors, save for the man he was to marry.  
       Neither had liked the idea, but it was the only way they could placate Sherlock’s father, who despite taking a liking to the thought of John the Muggle as his son-in-law, still tried to make things rather difficult for Sherlock out of spite.  
       However, the morning of the big day, John woke far earlier than normal to find his bed not-so-empty as it was when he’d gone to sleep.  
       “Sherlock?” he said blearily, rubbing at his eyes. The room was still dark, but that could have been the heavy window dressings.  
       “Obviously John. Certainly you haven’t been entertaining anyone else in your bed this week,” Sherlock replied, a hint of jealousy in his voice.  
       John ignored it, knowing it was only his lover’s nature, or rather part of it, that made him so jealous. Instead he pushed himself up, then scooted up to sit back against the pillows and the headboard. “Light?”  
       “No. The house elf might see it and report to father.”  
       John chuckled, shaking his head and opening an arm. Sherlock instantly, instinctively leaned into him without so much as a word about it. John had given up pointing these little odd behaviours out. His fiance would deny the necessity to show affection _while_ showing affection. “Do you think we’ve got time before they come ‘round to rouse us up?”  
       Sherlock hummed in thought, as if considering the idea before answering. “No,” he replied at last. “You shout far too much.”  
       The soldier smirked in the dark, feeling rather smug as he stroked Sherlock’s side with his fingertips just beneath the old t-shirt he wore. “You’ve never complained before. Besides, you could always use one of those silencing charm things like you do at home that you don’t think I know about.”  
       “Yes. Well. We tend to break those.”  
       “Do not.”  
       “Mrs. Hudson would dissagree. As would Mrs. Turner’s married ones,” Sherlock replied, but didn’t put up much of a fight when John moved in for a kiss.  
       They lay there lazily in the darkness of John’s room for nearly an hour, a tangle of limbs and sheets. Still fully clothed, much to John’s dissapointment. Then, just as silently and stealthily as Sherlock had arrived, he left. And none too soon, John thought, as the house elf assigned to keep watch over him for the week arrived with a very excited Lily.  
       “Rise and shine oh soon to be brother mine!” she exclaimed happily, far too bright and chipper for so early in the morning. John shielded his eyes as she spelled the lights on. The elf opened the drapes to reveal the first streaks of dawn. “Big day and all that! My goodness, we haven’t had a wedding here since… Well, since ever! Mummy has really outdone himself this time! He’s had to call on help from aunt Fleur with all the decor!” As she continued to prattle on to John about the day’s itenerary, and the decor, and the rather long guest list (most of which were people neither Sherlock nor John had even met), she was tidying up the room. The elf was packing away John’s non-essential belongings.  
       John himself was unwilling to climb out of bed until the problem Sherlock had left him with had gone back down. Which seemed to take quite a bit.  
 **o0o**  
       Sherlock had just climbed back into his bed and spelled the curtains of his bed closed when they were opened again and a rather annoyed looking Mycroft was standing over him.  
       “You do know that if father caught you sneaking in and out of John’s room, he would have hexed your delicates off.”  
       “Go away.”  
       “Unfortuately for me, I am tasked with babysitting you until you’re no longer our problem. Now get up and get dressed.”  
       “Wake me when it’s time to get married,” Sherlock replied, turning his back to his older brother like a petulant child.  
       Mycroft rolled his eyes as he drew his wand, using it to pull back the blankets and levetate his brother from the bed. Sherlock, annoyed, began flailing about in the air above the bed.  
       “Put me down!”  
       Mycroft released the charm, allowing his younger brother to fall on the bed with a loud grunt as the air was pushed from his lungs. The politician kept himself from smiling. “Mother requests your presence in the ballroom. And you are to stay away from the east wing.”  
       “I’ll be there eventually-“  
       “You are to clean and then dress, and accompany me to the ballroom.”  
       Sherlock huffed in annoyance. “What? Going to give me the obligatory becoming a man speech? I’ve already had rather excellent intercourse with John on numerous-“  
    _ **“SEVERUS!”**_ Mycroft interrupted him.  
       Sherlock blinked at him, wanting to smirk but schooling his features to remain blank. “What? You yourself have interrupted my coitus no less than seventeen times. What more evidence is needed to indicate that I am, in fact, a man?”  
       Mycroft rubbed a hand down his face with a groan. “Just take a shower and change. Mother expects you in forty-five minutes.”  
       The detective finally allowed himself a small smile as his brother left. Indeed since he had discovered the wondrous world of sex, he now understood how awkwardly useful it had become when ridding oneself of annoying individuals. He would need to share his observation of the conversation uses of the topic with John later, if they had time.  
       Sherlock did not crawl back out of bed until ten minutes before he was due downstairs. Not bothering to shower, as he would likely need to bathe properly before being trussed up in his wedding attire, he changed from one pair of flanel trousers to another and turned his t-shirt right side out. Then, donned his dressing gown.  
       After all, Mycroft hadn’t specified what he should wear just yet.


	2. Midday

He sighed, picking at the meal before him. He had finally been allowed out of his suite, but couldn’t go anywhere without Lily trailing along like some sort of bloodhound. The girl was really grating on his nerves, and so he had gone into the little space of garden he’d been allowed, as it was cut off from the rest of the property.  
        And now, he was at lunch. With no one to talk to but a half-crazed house elf and The Skull.  
        “Well, he really isn’t much for conversation is he?”  
        John looked up to see Lily at the door with a familiar face beside her.  
        “Molly!” he exclaimed in a mixture of relief and surprise as he stood from the table.  
        She was smiling at him as she crossed the room, looking around in awe. “A bit overwhelming,” she said when they met at the half-way point of the room. “Then again, I can’t really say I expected less from the family that produced Sherlock.”  
        John glanced past his friend to see Lily looking back at them. “You can go. She’s not Sherlock in disguise. She’s not a evil witch here to kill me for revenge or anything.”  
        Molly put a hand to her mouth, frowning. “That’s happened already?”  
        “….Christmas. It’s a long story,” he said, taking her by the hand as Lily discretely left them. He led her to the table, pulling out a chair and dragging it closer to his own so they could sit comfortably.  
        The house elf popped in to bring her something to eat. A small salad, as she’d eaten before she had left her flat.  
        Once they were comfortable, and John once more picking at his food, they lapsed from polite small talk to real conversation. And Molly was absolutely excited. “I don’t normally receive post by owl,” she started.  
        “Normally?… You’ve gotten it before?” John asked, slightly confused.  
        She nodded, giving him a knowing smile. “You think I’m… Oh no no. Though, I’m flattered. It means I’ve gotten quite a lot better at blending in,” she said. “I’m a squib, John. Bit like them, but no magic. As close to muggle as their sort can get.”  
        “Sorry, I just-“  
        “Don’t be sorry. I LOVE it! Muggles have so much more freedom. And conveniences. Electricity, cellphones. The internet! No wonder Sherlock loves it so much! And you wouldn’t believe the difference it makes when it comes to… Well… Let’s just say I’m very glad muggles are so high-tech. I don’t know what I’d do if I had to give up tampons.”  
        John’s cheeks flared red so fast he felt he might have been set on fire. Molly laughed playfully and patted his arm. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to-“  
        “No. You were just making a point,” John said, pushing his plate away, having lost his appetite. For a few more awkward moments, they sat there trying to restart the conversation with a different topic.  
        Molly, thankfully, obliged. “So, the post. I didn’t know Sherlock’s parents were-“  
        “Yeah. It was a big shock for me, too. Bigger even. I thought they were imaginary.”  
        Molly laughed. “Yeah. It was such a big scandal. But let you in on a secret… I’ve got the whole set. All the special edition DVDs. And the books, too.”  
        “Good. Just don’t let Sherlock know that. He’s destroyed every one of mine he’s come across.”  
        They spent the next few hours laughing and generally having a good time before Lily poked her head in and ordered that Molly leave so John could get changed.  
        “But we’ve still got hours-“  
        “No buts, soon to be brother of mine. Mummy’s orders!”  
        Molly bid him farewell, and left with Lily. The pair of them discussing quidditch.  
                                                        **o0o**  
        Sherlock had done his duty. He’d met with his mother. And Harry had spent the first twenty minutes telling him to put some proper trousers on. Sherlock, of course, offered to just change his clothes right there in front of Merlin and everyone. It did not go down well with the house elves. His comfortable loungewear was transfigured into something a little more respectable.  
        Mycroft had hovered around to the point of annoyance, and just when Sherlock was about to blow his top, Harry had insisted his eldest go find his father and check on the catering. Once Mycroft was gone, the two could be a little more at ease.  
        “I swear, he’s so…”  
        “Mycroft is a bloated toad. I have no idea what Lestrade sees in him.” Harry raised a brow in question, and Sherlock elaborated. “While I am perfectly able to observe the nuances of all forms of relationships between human beings, I prefer not to allow information regarding my elder brother in such situations to take up valuable space in my mind palace. Therefore, since I choose to block such things out, I am unable to fathom what another person considers traits of value in him.”  
        Green eyes rolled as Harry silently used his wand to adjust a few table decorations. Sherlock frowned, falling into step beside him as he walked around to inspect the handiwork of the house elves. “I apologize,” he said. “I sometimes forget that you are often displeased to hear the way in which Mycroft and I speak to and of one another.”  
        Harry stopped in his tracks, and turned his full attention to his middle child with wide eyes. “You… You’re apologizing?” he said, swallowing his surprise. “For calling your brother a bloated toad and Salazar only knows what else?”  
        “Isn’t that what you wanted to hear, mother?”  
        “Were you sincere?”  
        At this, Sherlock actually had to think. Then, he nodded. “I suppose I am. Perhaps I am falling ill-“  
        The great wizard savior shook his head and pulled his son into a hug. Had it been anyone else, with the exception of John, he would have felt extremely awkward at the sudden embrace. But, seeing as it was his mother… He patted Harry’s back a few times. “There? There?”  
        When Harry pulled back, Sherlock was aghast. A deep frown set in. “You’re upset. Why are you upset? I thought you would be ecstatic to have one of your children marry off. Father’s not exactly thrilled, John being a muggle and not one with whom he can form a political alliance. If you like, John and I will leave now and elope.”  
        “No. I’ve spent all of my free time planning your wedding and you’re going to damn well go through with it,” Harry ordered, squaring his shoulders much in the same manner John would when standing his ground against the detective.  
        Sherlock made a mental note to further examine the similarities in the mannerisms of his mother and John before the day was out.  
        “And I’m not upset,” the older wizard continued. “I’m actually happy. From the way things look, you’re the only one who’s ever getting married, and I damn well want it to be something worth remembering. And you may be surprised to learn that your father actually LIKES having John around.”  
        “What?”  
        “See, I knew that would get you off balance.” Harry smiled, motioning for Sherlock to walk with him again as he continued his inspection. “He’s just wanting to make things more difficult because it’s you.”  
        “Yes, his least favorite child. I suppose it’s spite, then.”  
        A nod. “Partly. But you know how he is. Proud as a hippogriff and as mean as the peacocks. He actually told me last night that he’s proud of you.”  
        “He did not.”  
        “He did. You actually managed to surprise him.” Harry stopped to direct attention to a table with mismatched place settings before walking on. “He never thought you would find someone on your own. Let alone a… what is it he does, love? That muggle word for healer.”  
        “He’s a doctor.”  
        “Yes. That’s the one. And a soldier as well. You’ve done really well. They are very respectable professions. At least, they were when I was young.”  
        “He spends much of his time at the clinic prescribing muggle contraceptives and… ah… stimulant aids for the elderly.” He would have simply said Viagra or erectile dysfunction medication… but those are not things to discuss with your parent; nor did he desire to spend the next hour or so explaining the modern muggle science behind _limp wands_. “They are still respectable professions, mother,” he added quickly, earning him a nod.  
        “Not that I care. You could live on the street eating from dumpsters-“  
        “Inspiring.”  
        “So long as you’re happy. And not out faking your death again.” Harry gave a wicked, wicked grin. “Next time, I’ll send your sister after you. And I’m sure John would have a few choice words as well. Especially since if you pulled a stunt like that again, you’d be leaving him alone with my grandchildren.”  
        Ah…. There it was. The real reason he’d been ordered to spend time with his mother before the wedding. “We have discussed it.”  
        “And he was in the room with you at the time I hope.”  
        “Yes. He was. I… used a sticking charm to hold him on the sofa. But that’s not the point. We discussed it. And while I have no maternal instincts whatsoever, I will begrudgingly become the temporary home of your rotten grandchildren. Father can die happy now.” By the time he finished, Sherlock’s tone was bitter and sarcastic. “You can expect a minimum of two. John wants at least two.”  
        “Oh good. Not right away of course.”  
        “Naturally. Could you imagine me running through the streets of London, chasing down mass muderers and serial killers with swollen ankles and 8 months pregnant?” His serious, sour expression broke into a small smile as he actually chortled. Harry burst into full bellied laughter.  
        “Actually, knowing you, yes! John’s going to have to tie you to a chair!”  
        They continued in this amiable manner for a little longer before Mycroft reappeared. Sherlock leaned in to whisper so that his elder brother would not hear. “Now that you’ll have seen me well off, I do believe my dear brother has been trying to convince his Inspector to wed.”  
        “Oh really?” Harry replied with a twinkle in his green eyes. “That’s excellent news.”  
        “Yes. The only problem is, my dear brother refuses to bear any children. Perhaps you can convince him otherwise.”  
        “Oh Merlin… That would be a sight. Though the world may run out of cake before he’s through.”  
        Judging by the scowl on Mycroft’s face, he quickly figured out what his brother and their mother were up to. And he didn’t like it at all.


	3. Evening

There were people everywhere. So many people he had never even met before. Most of them magical, others just annoying. John was never so glad to so glad to see his husband, and that thought made him smile from ear to ear, in his life. For all his faults, Sherlock’s need for all attention to be focused on himself was, in this instance, a godsend.  
     “Let’s do a runner,” John said as Sherlock chased away another awkward and magical group of people John would likely never see again. “It’s absoluetly hateful.”  
     “I couldn’t agree more, however Mummy would be dissapointed if we do not remain for a minimum of two hours at our own reception.”  
     John chuckled just a little. “Wouldn’t want that.”  
     “No. Especially since I’m likely the only child to marry.” Sherlock leaned in close, lips brushing the shell of John’s ear and the muggle could swear he was actually smiling. It sent his heartrate higher, and he swore he could actually **FEEL** his pupils dialate. “There is, however, a nice little terrace, just over there. With a nice lovely high hedge.” John shivered as his detctive’s mouth went just a bit lower, to that brilliant spot just behind his ear.  
     John’s reply caught in his throat as Sherlock pulled back, scowling at the interruption John had failed to notice.  
     “Save it for the honeymoon, you two,” came the cheery voice.  
     The doctor’s brain seemed to be stalling out as he fought to regain his composure. Sherlock, on the other hand, did not miss a beat as usual. “Stamford,” he said placidly. “I wasn’t aware you had been invited.”  
     “I wasn’t. I’m-“  
     Molly appeared at his side, linking arms with the heavy set man. “He’s my plus one. I thought since, you know, he brought the pair of you together he might want to be here.”  
     “I see.”  
     “He’s a Cupid, you know,” Molly continued, and Mike’s cheeks burned nearly as red as John’s.  
     “No,” John said, shooting a rueful look at the man he thought he’d known. “I didn’t.”  
     “Oh yes. He’d been tr-“  
     “Molly,” Mike said at the same time Sherlock interrupted her with “I could use a drink.”  
     Momentarily distracted from the conversation, John looked at his new husband with a slight frown. “You don’t drink.”  
     “But you do. Let’s hunt the champagne.”  
                                                     **o0o**  
     “Do you reckon they noticed we’ve gone?”  
     “Oh, I’m sure some have. Tomorrow morning it’ll be across the front pages. People will certainly talk then.”  
     John couldn’t contain his laugh, pressing a lazy kiss to Sherlock’s shoulder. “Yes, well,” he said, causing him to look up at him. “They always do.”  
     ” _‘Prodigal Son and Muggle Husband Flee Scene of Wedding to Shag in the Bushes.’_ “  
     “There’s bushes in the study?” John asked in mock confusion before peppering pale skin with more kisses, illiciting a low and welcome moan.  
     Long fingers danced up John’s arm lazily before stopping to lay his hand flat against his bicep. “I was speaking in terms of the _Prophet_. _Witch Weekly_ will no doubt put us on a table at the reception. Scandalizing my parents and upsetting a majority of alarmists.”  
     John hummed, the vibrations in his chest against Sherlock’s, and the force of it eminating from lips to skin just below the pale man’s jaw causing another moan, accompanied by hips pressing upward. “Mmm… And what about _The Quibbler_?”  
     “The truth, of course,” was the reply. “They’ll report that I dragged you away for a quick shag on my father’s desk and befouled his favorite chair, along with various other… large pieces of decor.”  
     John raised up on his elbows then, one on either side of Sherlock’s chest and grinned down at him. “Seriously?”  
     Sherlock looked back up at him as if the answer was the most obvious thing in the world. “Have you met my godmother?”  
     And that look. That look right there, with that tone.  
     That was the reason he’d fallen for the git. “I don’t think we’ve managed the sette yet,” John said, glancing over from the desk where he had his wizard pinned. “Think you can manage another round?”  
     “John, in case you hadn’t noticed, I’m a rare and magical creature that is traditionally-” Lips smashed into lips as John forced the words into submission.  
     “Oh shut up,” he said when he broke for air. “And get over to the sette.”


	4. Aftermath

Mrs. Hudson was positively crowing in delight when she saw her Baker Street boys the day after their wedding. How was she to know that the brief signing at the registrar’s office wasn’t their official wedding, but merely something John had badgered Sherlock into doing for the sake of their muggle friends?  
     But mostly for Mrs. Hudson.  
     Who baked them a cake. And bought them moderately priced wine. And cooked them a fancy meal (of which Sherlock only ate a third). And chattered on endlessly after about how wonderful it was, and how she’d always known they’d end up married. And how Mrs. Turner’s married ones were having troubles, whereas HER married ones were the most wonderful, happiest and perfect pair on earth.  
     By the time John and Sherlock had shooed her back downstairs, they locked the flat behind her.  
     “Finally,” John muttered, leaning against the door. “I don’t think I could stand to hear another story about Mrs. Turner’s married ones.”  
     Sherlock peered over the end of the sofa. “Sex now.”  
     “N-now Sherlock?”  
     “Would you prefer I make an appointment, doctor?”  
     “As much as I’d love to, I’m exhausted.” Sherlock’s face fell. “Don’t give me that look. It’s your fault I’m tired. Agreeing to such a big, boistrous affair. And I only managed half an hour’s rest, total, in the last 36 hours and that was only because you passed out for twenty.”  
     Sherlock blinked at him, his face now an expressionless mask. “Is this how it’s going to be then?”  
     John groaned, realizing his mistake. “No. It’s not. But I’m not a machine. We can’t fill every single waking moment with shagging.”  
     “That’s what married people do, isn’t it?”  
     “Y… No. Only sometimes.”  
     “Like on their honeymoon. This is our honeymoon. In lieu of leaving the country on some ridiculous vacation, I am not taking any cases and have set my work aside to focus solely on you. And you will cater to my whims. Because that is what loving husbands do.”  
     “Can’t we just cuddle a little? I’m still a bit sore and-“  
     “Then I’ll give you a massage. I’ve been dying to try out a technique I learned in Calcutta.”  
     “That’s… not exactly where I’m sore, Sherlock.”  
     The detective sat up on the couch, raising an arm invitingly and grinning madly. _**“I know.”**_  
                                              **o0o**  
     Mrs. Hudson was just sitting down to tea with Mrs. Turner, who’d come over for another of their weekly gossip sessions. The two women were sitting in her livingroom, and Mrs. Turner had just started to tell her good friend the latest juicy bits about Mr. and Mrs. Kincade two streets over, and how they were both having an affair with the postman.  
     That is, she would have gotten to the part about the postman, and how he was the father of Mrs. Kincade’s third child… had it not been for the bits of dust falling into her teacup as she held it.  
     “Martha?”  
     Mrs. Hudson smiled knowingly. “Oh, Glenda… Have I got one for you… Come sit over here, dear. It’s a bit safer. Less likely to ruin your tea. I’ll pour you a bit more shall I?”  
     “Don’t tell me…”  
     “Oh yes. I’ve **finally** got myself some married ones. And let me tell you, my Sherlock’s got quite a mouth on him, but that’s nothing compared to our John…”


End file.
